


lullaby

by thunderylee



Category: Nobuta wo Produce
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Akira sings in his sleep.





	lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

Akira sings in his sleep.

Don’t get the wrong idea, they don’t share a room. At least not anymore. There was awhile there when they were both broke uni students and their entire studio consisted of just one open room, except the bathroom of course, but that was a long time ago. After a couple weeks, Shuuji had given up on trying to push Akira away while they slept and tricked himself into thinking that Akira was just another blanket. A heated, breathing, squirming blanket that _sang_ with his face pressed into Shuuji’s hair.

But even now, at twenty-four years old with separate bedrooms on the opposite ends of the apartment from each other, Shuuji can still hear him in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s in his head, maybe it’s in his _dreams_ , but the nonsensical melody is just as clear as it was five years ago.

It’s inevitably what curbs his natural anxiety and finally puts him to sleep.

When Akira’s father passed away last summer, Shuuji had insomnia for a week. It was coincidentally the same week Akira practically slept at his late father’s office, making arrangements and handling urgent business while not actually having any idea what he was doing. He couldn’t even mourn properly until the matters of his inheritance were settled, including the newly-appointed CEO that was not Akira, and by that time he was too tired and messed up in the head to do anything but pass out the minute he returned home.

Sometimes Shuuji wonders why they still live together. He tries to date but his heart really isn’t into it, his focus right now on figuring out what he wants to do with his life. Despite being adamant about not ending up like everyone else, he continues to put on a suit every morning and take orders for a paycheck. He’s had different jobs since graduating university but they’re all basically the same; every company expects the same thing from him, something he doesn’t really enjoy. The only thing he’s recently discovered that he likes to do is write, particularly historical fiction based on samurai life in the Showa era, and nobody wants to pay him to do that.

Akira would, but Shuuji won’t allow his friend to support him. Akira himself found his calling by sheer luck, by enrolling in the local university and choosing the major that looked the easiest to excel in – art. He learned how to draw and paint and sculpt, having the time of his life while being constantly praised by his instructors who claimed that he had an “eye.” It was during this time that Akira had been cut off from his father’s money and he couldn’t afford the required equipment for a photography class he really wanted to take, so Shuuji worked hard and saved for six months to buy him a decent camera that he could use to get a good grade.

He ended up getting a good grade _and_ a job. A representative from a popular cultural magazine happened to have a daughter who attended their school, and he had stopped short in front of Akira’s contest-winning collage of random students and teachers just existing. The rep claimed that Akira could capture the inner beauty of people and hired him straightaway. Now Akira gets paid to attend festivals and other social events, shooting whatever he wants because he always seems to inspire the journalists to write their articles around his pictures.

This past spring, Nobuta had hired him to photograph her wedding. Mariko was her Maid of Honor and it had only been a little awkward for Shuuji, who feels like their high-school relationship was many lifetimes ago. She was still as beautiful as always, lifting his mood with just a smile, and apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought so because of a silver band on her ring finger and a barely-noticeable baby bump under her dress. He’d offered his congratulations and got unspoken pity in response, Mariko’s eyes worrying at the news that he had attended the wedding by himself.

He’s fine – they’re both fine, but nobody is really concerned about Akira. He took amazing pictures, had cake smashed in his face by the bride, and went home with a bridesmaid, some friend of Nobuta’s from college who kept making eyes at the cute photographer.

Shuuji didn’t sleep that night either, not until the early hours of the morning when Akira had stumbled in the door and passed out in the wrong bed. Shuuji didn’t have the heart to wake him up, resigning himself to a few hours of being Akira’s pillow once again. If he was being honest with himself, it was only uncomfortable because he smelled strongly like that girl’s flowery perfume.

He’d be a liar if he said he’s never thought about it, crossing that line and being with Akira _like that_. It wouldn’t be that much different from the way they live now, with the obvious exception. The thought of being intimate with Akira doesn’t scare him as much as it did four years ago, when Akira kissed him on his twentieth birthday and Shuuji had been messed up for a week because of it. Akira didn’t seem to remember it at all, or make any inclination since then that he wanted to be with Shuuji _like that_ ; if anything, his constant pushing into Shuuji’s personal space that hasn’t changed since high school made the probability even less. If Akira has feelings for Shuuji, he shows them. Whether it be sadness, appreciation, anger, or that unconditional friendship love that is unique to Akira.

Even as an adult, Shuuji thinks too much. All of these memories and feelings fill his head as he lays awake in bed, waiting for Akira to come home from wherever he is. It’s late summer turning into autumn, the seasons as reliable as ever, and Akira has a busy schedule of events and side jobs. He’s horrible at telling Shuuji when he’ll be late and Shuuji’s given up worrying about it – if Akira’s home for dinner, great, if not he can heat up leftovers. It’s not like they’re married or anything, Shuuji just doesn’t like the idea of Akira cooking unsupervised. Nobody can really blame him, after all, when Shuuji returned home after a trip to visit his family on his birthday to find the fire department outside and Akira covered in black ash.

It’s pathetic how his heart jumps when he hears the front door open, the soft melody of Silent Night wafting through the empty rooms. Akira’s English is horrible and he doesn’t actually know the words, the song choice alone pulling Shuuji from bed to satisfy his curiosity that always seems to pique around his roommate.

He finds Akira in the living room, sitting in the exact spot where they usually put their Christmas tree with a Santa hat on his head and a bucket of KFC in his lap. Shuuji has definitely seen more confusing sights in the past seven years, even if keeping up with the inner workings of Akira’s mind should be a full-time job.

Akira spots him before he can open his mouth, swallowing his bite enough to declare, “I’m home!”

“Welcome home,” Shuuji tells him groggily. “You know it’s only October, right?”

“It’s always Christmas in my heart,” Akira says seriously, then holds out the bucket. “Chicken?”

Shuuji’s not actually hungry, but his feet lead him across the floor and he sits in front of Akira, accepting a drumstick and staring at the childish grin on Akira’s face. “How was work?”

“Fun!” Akira exclaims. “I was taking pictures of these foreign models for some holiday spread, and they let me keep the hat.”

He’s talking so animatedly that the white ball falls in front of his face, and he blows at it and tries to bat it away without actually touching it. Shuuji takes pity on him and flips it towards the back, and Akira beams at him gratefully.

Shuuji tries not to melt. “So if it’s Christmas, what did you get me?” he asks playfully.

Akira taps his finger on his chin in mock thought. “Ah!” he declares, then leans right across the bucket and plants a greasy kiss on Shuuji’s lips. “There.”

It kind of feels like a train just knocked him over; all Shuuji can do is stare at him, his hand slowly lifting to touch his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” Akira says, paying no attention to Shuuji’s reaction. “Please take care of me next year too!”

Shuuji blinks, confused at the realization that he isn’t actually confused. His feelings are strong, his mind clear, the excited twinkle in Akira’s eyes warming his heart – he’s in love with the idiot.

“I’m in love with you,” Shuuji blurts out.

Now Akira looks at him, actually stares into his eyes with a mixture of wonder and interest as he finishes his chicken thigh and licks his lips. “Really?”

Shuuji’s nodding before he can actively think about it, placing the half-eaten drumstick on a napkin and wiping his hands on a towel. “Yeah.”

Akira uses the towel too, so calmly that Shuuji thinks there’s something wrong, fears the worst, but in his next breath he’s on his back with Akira clinging to him and pressing his face into his neck. “It really is Christmas,” he’s saying, squeezing Shuuji so hard that he’s shaking.

“Do you… do you feel the same way?” Shuuji asks carefully. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if the answer is no, not now that he’s breathing in Akira’s scent and feeling his heartbeat, further justifying his sudden revelation.

Instead of answering in words, Akira pulls back and presses their lips together again. This time there’s no chicken remains and it doesn’t end right away, the tingling only intensifying as Akira kisses him eagerly and runs away with Shuuji’s mind. It feels so right that Shuuji could kick himself for waiting so long, for denying himself the one love he’s always had and just never allowed himself to accept. He doesn’t care that Akira is a boy or what people will say, not anymore.

Akira gasps when their tongues touch, quite possibly farther gone than Shuuji. He’s already kind of out of it to begin with, so Shuuji can only imagine how detached he is from reality right now. He’s as persistent as ever, though, clutching Shuuji like he’s in danger of losing him as Akira takes his breath away.

It feels like hours that they lay there kissing, neither one in any hurry to stop until finally Shuuji’s back protests the floor and he shifts with a wince.

“I’m sorry,” Akira says against his lips. “I really like the way you taste.”

Shuuji feels himself flushing a little as he catches his breath. “Don’t we taste the same? We both were eating chicken.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Akira insists, his eyes a little glazed over as he falls over himself (and Shuuji) to get to his feet. He grabs Shuuji’s arm and Shuuji doesn’t even have time to protest before he’s upright, swaying in Akira’s hold like some kind of drunken slow-dancing despite both of them completely sober and alert.

“Shu~uji-kun,” Akira says slowly, lifting his eyes. “Can I really have you now?”

There are so many things that question could mean, and Shuuji gradually finds that he’s okay with all of them. “Yes, you can,” he replies, his voice choking a little at the way Akira smiles. “I’m yours.”

Akira nearly suffocates him with another hug, one that has him stumbling backwards down the hallway. Shuuji spares a passing thought to the bucket of chicken as he’s half-carried into his own room, then freezes as he’s laid down on his bed with a warm body covering his.

“Akira-” he starts.

“You made me wait this long,” Akira mumbles, managing to kiss Shuuji through his pout. “Now you’re going to make me wait even longer?”

Shuuji’s heart skips a beat. “Exactly how long have you waited?”

Akira sits up and starts counting on his fingers, then gives Shuuji his most pitiful puppy-dog look. “Seven years.”

He seems to be amused by Shuuji’s gaping, at least he’s smiling again as he rests his hand lightly on Shuuji’s chest. Shuuji starts to tense again but Akira’s touch is right over his heart, calming him considerably because unlike the other times he’s done this before, this time it’s out of love.

Slowly Akira leans down to kiss him, his taste familiar like they’ve been doing this for years, and just as naturally Akira’s fingers are slipping down between them to the waistband of Shuuji’s sleep pants. The material is too loose to hide his reaction and he doesn’t even try to fight it, arching towards the pressure at the first brush of Akira’s fingers over the protruding head of his erection.

An embarrassing whine is pulled from his throat at the sensation, but Akira just exhales roughly. “Mm, Shuuji,” he whispers, dragging his lips down Shuuji’s jaw and pressing wet kisses into the sensitive skin of his neck. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You’re-you’re doing it,” Shuuji stammers, tripping over his syllables at the way his body aches for Akira to keep going. “Akira, please.”

“ _Shuuji_ ,” and it takes three tries for Akira to shove his hand in Shuuji’s pants, his nervousness showing as shaky fingers wrap around his cock and give it a tentative tug. Shuuji moans outright, his head falling back as his hips push up into the touch, and he can swear he feels Akira smiling as he continues to nip and suck at Shuuji’s neck.

He feels Akira hard against his hip and tries to move his own hand, somehow managing to wedge it between them and rub at the bulge in Akira’s pants. Akira’s noises are similar to his singing, high-pitched and breathy as his own body seeks out the promising friction. Shuuji fumbles trying to unfasten Akira’s belt one-handed but Akira utilizes his free hand to help, going as far as to actually pull out his cock and place Shuuji’s fingers around it as he whimpers desperately into Shuuji’s neck.

“Shu~uji, Shu~uji, Shu~uji,” he chants, trembling as he practically thrusts into Shuuji’s hand. His anxiety arouses Shuuji even more, leading him to tighten his grip on Akira’s back _and_ length, his breathing faltering as he gets close.

Neither one of them are trying for longevity here, hands flying up and down slick cocks and fingers rubbing the sensitive heads. At the last second Akira leans up to capture Shuuji’s lips, flicking the tips of their tongues together and that’s what inevitably sends Shuuji over the edge, crying out into Akira’s mouth that struggles to continue kissing him even as his own orgasm rips from him. Shuuji feels it spill over his fingers and is at a loss of what to do, his senses still heightened and his nerves tingling from head to toe.

He feels his hand lifted but can’t bring himself to open his eyes to see what’s going on, then Akira’s hot tongue is bathing his fingers and Shuuji thinks he could come again from the action alone. When his hand is clean, Shuuji forces apart one eyelid and sees him repeating the process on his own hand, his jaw dropping slightly at the sight.

Akira catches him looking and grins, big and lazy like the Cheshire cat, and Shuuji lets out an ‘oof’ when Akira flops down completely on top of him. “I can sleep in here tonight, right?”

Shuuji has just enough energy to nod, not even flinching when Akira almost elbows him in the face as he takes off his shirt. Then he kicks off his pants and Shuuji wonders why he just doesn’t go get pajamas from his own room, the answer becoming clear as Akira’s breathing falls even and his weight becomes noticeable on Shuuji’s chest.

And just like the many times before, the sweet melody sounds from Akira’s sleepy voice, relaxing the uptight Shuuji and lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

It’s another Christmas song, but it feels appropriate.


End file.
